It was late in the afternoon when Mr. Gray returned. His heightened color and eager inquiry for Dr. Duchesne provoked the usual hope from the people that he met “that it was nothing serious.” No, nothing was the matter, the master answered with a slight laugh, but would they send the doctor to his schoolhouse when he returned? “That young chap’s worse than he thinks,” was one sympathizing suggestion; “this kind of life’s too rough for his sort.”
To while away the interim, Mr. Gray stopped on his way to the schoolhouse at the stage office as the Wingdam stage drew up and disgorged its passengers. He was listlessly watching the passengers as they descended when a soft voice from the window addressed him, “May I trouble you for your arm as I get down?” Mr. Gray looked up. It was a singular request, as the driver was at that moment standing by the door, apparently for that purpose. But the request came from a handsome woman, and with a bow the young man stepped to the door. The lady laid her hand lightly on his arm, sprang from the stage with a dexterity that showed the service to have been merely ceremonious, thanked him with an elaboration of acknowledgment which seemed equally gratuitous, and disappeared in the office.
“That’s what I call a dead set,” said the driver, drawing a long breath, as he turned to Mr. Gray, who stood in some embarrassment. “Do you know her?”
“No,” said Mr. Gray laughingly, “do you?”
“Nary time! But take care of yourself, young man; she’s after you, sure!”
But Mr. Gray was continuing his walk to the schoolhouse, unmindful of the caution. For the momentary glimpse he had caught of this woman’s face, she appeared to be about thirty. Her dress, though tasteful and elegant, in the present condition of California society afforded no criterion of her social status. But the figure of Dr. Duchesne waiting for him at the schoolhouse door just then usurped the place of all others, and she dropped out of his mind.
“Now then,” said the doctor, as the young man grasped his hand, “you want me to tell you why your eyes are bloodshot, why your cheeks burn, and your hand is dry and hot?”
“Not exactly! Perhaps you’ll understand the symptoms better when you’ve heard my story. Sit down here and listen.”
The doctor took the proffered seat on top of a desk, and Mr. Gray, after assuring himself that they were entirely alone, related the circumstances he had gathered from M’liss that morning.
“You see, doctor, how unjust were your surmises in regard to this girl,” continued Mr. Gray. “But let that pass now. At the conclusion of her story, I offered to go with her to this Ali Baba cave. It was no easy job finding the concealed entrance, but I found it at last, and ample corroboration of every item of this wild story. The pocket is rich with the most valuable ore. It has evidently been worked for some time since the discovery was made, but there is still a fortune in its walls, and several thousand dollars of ore sacked up in its galleries. Look at that!” continued Mr. Gray, as he drew an oblong mass of quartz and metal from his pocket. “Think of a secret of this kind having been intrusted for three weeks to a penniless orphan girl of twelve and an eccentric schoolboy of ten, and undivulged except when a proper occasion offered.”